


another taste of divine rush

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fire and Burning mentioned a lot bc i'm horrible at description or something, I HAD FUN OKAY, Listen this is kinda Crack, M/M, Modern magic AU, Werewolves (once), a lot of parenthesis, corn and cheese everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian didn’t know what was wrong with his magic, but it liked to create random hexes out of anything. So when Mickey Milkovich showed up, Ian truly did know: Ian himself was cursed. He must be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another taste of divine rush

**Author's Note:**

> the last fic i posted for this fandom was early june and i almost can't believe it but !!!!! here we are
> 
> this fic is based off of yevgenymilkovich's post on tumblr: au where the gallagher’s are a coven of witches and they’re into like white magic. they don’t mean to put a hex on you, but fuck, if you so much as touch fiona’s chicken pot pie you’re going to wake up with a tail between your legs. ian and lip use their powers to their advantage ofc and lure in innocent ppl into their witchy traps, using their charms (obvs lip is all for using love potions bc he’s so lame) and ian sometimes spikes a ‘date’s’ drink with a bit of vee’s concotion before robbing him blind. basically, the gallagher coven are a notoriety within the south side, they’re allegedly a good coven, but they fuck up. so one day, there’s a literal storm– and it’s like some type of wizard of oz ‘wicked witch of the west’ type shit because there swoops in mickey milkovich who is from the milkovich black magic coven (and you only ever hear the faintest of most indiscernible but somehow obscene whispers about what goes on in that coven). so he rolls up to the gallagher cottage on his broom and is all, ‘OKAY, WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS PUT A HEX ON MY SISTER??!?!?’ and ian’s like…. i wanna be broom mates.
> 
> i kinda took that idea and ran away with it, and boy did i have fun.

This was the thing about magic: it needed to be controlled. It needed to be given direction, guidance, almost, if the magic you were using was going to work correctly.

Which is why, of course, the Gallaghers were so shit at magic.

It wasn't their fault, per se. Magic needed to be taught at a young age, once powers first showed themselves, but magic also needed to be taught by experienced magic users. Monica and Frank were hardly ever around—and when they were, their minds were far too focused on drugs or money to focus on teaching their children how to control their magic—and so the job was left to Fiona.

Only Fiona wasn’t too good with her magic either. Not to say she wasn’t experienced, because once she’d dropped out of high school to take care of her siblings she’d used her magic a lot more, but she’d had to learn all her magic herself. Now her magic was a bit haphazard—she’d be vacuuming in the living room before remembering that she had a hangover potion boiling on the stove and had to drop everything. Mops would be scrubbing the floors in the kitchen while the vacuum rolled around the living room while random objects on the floor of their bedroom would fling themselves into neat, tidy drawers. So Fiona was good at her magic, but she still wasn’t complete. She wasn’t like the other white magicians—their entire family wasn’t like other white magicians—because while other white magicians had a tight, sealed lid on their magic and carefully practiced it out, the Gallagher magic bubbled up and spilled over.

Lip was probably the best in their family at controlling magic, and even then, that was saying basically nothing. He took a clinical approach to the magic—he read books and memorized spells and enchantments so that his magic could be better. Everyone thought that Lip would be the one to get his magic together (and hopefully help everyone else), but his magic was just as faulty. Lip could utter an enchantment to raise a chair, intending to raise it about two inches off the ground, only for the chair to soar upwards, hitting the ceiling and splintering into pieces (this actually happened—Debbie and Carl covered their heads, Fiona covered Liam’s, and Lip and Ian just watched in shock as wood pieces fell from the ceiling. “Well,” Lip had said awkwardly).

Fiona, Lip, and Ian all hoped that combined, they could help Debbie and Carl control their magic, but it seemed like a very, _very_ hard cause. Right now, all they used their magic for was little things, like finishing homework (it didn’t work, Carl had only set his on fire instead) or magicking cookies from the local bakery (Debbie just ended up covered in flour). Fiona constantly worried about the day their magic came in full form, because then she really would have a handful. She’d have a _magicful_ , and that was way worse.

(“And that’s why Liam is my favorite,” she constantly said, up until Liam threw up on her.)

Fiona said (usually in an exasperated tone, because she’d just finished cleaning up one of their messes), “Seven out of ten Gallagher spells go wrong.”

Which Ian had to admit, in his sixteen years of life, was pretty spot on. _Especially_ for him. Ian didn’t know what was wrong with his magic, but it liked to create random hexes out of anything. Ian could open up the fridge, see it empty, and say, “Man, I was really craving some eggs,” and the next thing they know, there are hens all over the Gallagher house, walking around and laying eggs (this also actually happened, but to Ian’s credit, the eggs lasted them for three weeks, and with the money they didn’t have to pay on food, Fiona could pay the gas bill). He didn’t know why his magic was all wonky—Fiona and Lip had tried to help, but it hadn’t worked—and mostly he went every day praying that his magic didn’t do something wrong.  

It was why he always got annoyed when Fiona yelled at him or Lip criticized him when he accidentally hexed something—he didn’t _mean_ to. He _never_ means to. Why would he want to hex their radio so that it always played the music stuck in Ian’s head? It just happened. He should never be held accountable.

Well, there was the fact that the only person who can take back a hex was the one who cast it, so Ian was usually screwed. He never knew how he caused the hex in the first place, so it was always a bunch of puzzle solving just to get the hex off.

So when Mickey Milkovich showed up, Ian truly did know: Ian himself was cursed. He must be.

All the Gallaghers were in the kitchen eating breakfast—it was the weekend, thankfully, and Ian could already feel summer coming—when there was a loud, resonating _crack_ , a crack that turned into a scream that made them clap their hands to their ears.  The house started shaking then, and Ian could feel angry magic bubbling up. “The wards,” Fiona hissed. “Debbie, Carl, take Liam outside—” She was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

They all glanced at each other, then at Fiona, eyes questioning her on what to do. “Alright, someone has broken into the wards,” Fiona said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Debbie, Carl, take Liam upstairs this time. Ian and Lip will help me deal with this. We don’t know who could be out there.”

Her question was answered when the person pounded on the door again. “ _Ian Gallagher!_ ” a voice yelled. Ian froze in his seat. “Mandy told me what you did, you piece of shit!”

“Mandy?” Lip repeated, just as Fiona turned to Ian with her arms crossed over her chest. “Mandy _Milkovich_?” Lip glared at Ian. “What the fuck have you done?”

“Nothing, I swear!” Ian exclaimed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “At least—I don’t think—”

“Oh, fuck,” Fiona muttered, shaking her head. She pointed at Debbie and Carl. “Upstairs, now. We’ll deal with this.” Debbie nodded, taking Liam from his chair and following Carl upstairs. Fiona motioned for Lip and Ian to follow her to the door. “You better figure out what the fuck you did before we have a coven of black magic Milkoviches on our ass, Ian,” she said. She got to the door, waiting until Lip picked up the bat (sometimes, human items worked better than magic), and then she opened it.

Mickey Milkovich stormed in, brushing past Fiona without touching her, and his magic crackled into the living room, making the hair on Ian’s arms raise. Black magic was a lot darker than white magic—white magic might curse you to cough every time someone else coughed, while black magic would curse you with a disease that had coughs. Just by magic alone, white magic and black magic didn’t get along. If they got close together, the air around them crackled—apparently touching skin could literally burn someone. Then take into account that white magic covens and black magic covens usually hated each other, and the rest was set in stone.

Mickey was mad, and Ian could feel it. Whenever he glanced at Ian, his magic sparked a little. A paper on the living room table caught on fire, and Mickey sighed, muttering some words under his breath to get it to stop.

Lip raised the bat. “How the fuck did you get into the house?”

The anger between white magic covens and black magic covens were so dangerous that people have died for it. The Milkoviches were the closest black magic coven (and by closest, they meant they were the only ones in the South Side, but it also sucked that they were ten minutes away) and so Fiona had forced Frank to go make a deal with them. It was a half-ass deal, made when Terry Milkovich and Frank were both drunk at the Alibi, but Fiona had gotten them both to sign in magical ink to a contract stating that the two magic covens don’t attack each other, come into each other’s houses without permission, or start any fights. Somehow, they’d all kept up to it.

Even then, they’d still taken precautions. Ian and Mandy were in the same grade, and they usually made an attempt to switch out of the same classes so they never saw each other. The Gallagher house had magical spells around it so that black magic users couldn’t come in, not without Gallagher permission, so Mickey managing to get through the wards by himself—that was worrying.

At least he had the manners to knock.

Mickey just glanced at the bat in Lips hand, amusement curling his mouth into a smile, and Ian wanted to hiss at Lip to put it down before Mickey did something with it. He would have, only Mickey turned to Ian then. “You need to come with me,” he said.

“I swear I didn’t do anything,” Ian told him.

“Bullshit. Tell me, which other white magic user goes within Mandy on a regular basis?” Mickey asked.

Ian sighed. He knew it was a bad idea to stay in the same history class as Mandy, but there was only one class, and he didn’t want to drop out of this one. Mandy hadn’t either, so Ian had just resigned himself to a year of holding his magic back from scratching against Mandy’s. And he’d been doing _well_ so far.

Ian sighed. “I don’t actually know what I did, if I did anything,” he told Mickey.

Mickey shrugged. “You’re coming with me either way, I don’t give a shit what anyone else says.”

“Fine.” Fiona made a noise at the back of her throat, and Lip said “No fucking way,” but Ian glared at them. “Even if I didn’t do it”— _unlikely_ —“I may be able to figure out who did,” Ian said to his siblings.

“Fucking fantastic,” Mickey said. “Can we go now? The quicker I can get that hex off Mandy, the better terms we’ll be on.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lip said, handing the bat to Fiona. He puffed out his chest when Mickey rolled his eyes. “Just wanna make sure there isn’t any funny business.”

Mickey snorted. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

On the way over to the Milkovich house, Lip kept trying to grill Mickey on how he got through the Gallagher wards, but Mickey shrugged off the questions easily, never giving Lip an actual answer. Ian thought it was amusing, seeing Lip so frustrated because he couldn’t figure something out, but mostly he was lost in his own thoughts, trying to figure out what he could have possibly hexed Mandy Milkovich with.

When they turned onto Mickey’s street and his house came into view, Ian could feel the black magic everywhere. It was seeping through the cracks in the sidewalk, brushing up from the grass (mostly dead, anyways, but what did you expect from black magic?), and it even felt like it was in the air. The aura of magic around Mickey grew stronger as they got closer, making Ian wonder about how strong Mickey truly was, if he was weaker by the Gallagher house and yet could still break through their wards.

A disgusted face crept upon Lip’s face as they got closer. No doubt he was feeling the effects of the black magic, but his gaze also traveled across the Milkovich house as they got closer. His disdainful expression remained as he looked at the junk in the front yard, the beer bottles and the clothes and shoes, and Ian prayed that Lip would keep his mouth shut.

Mickey led them through the house—Ian had to cover his mouth, only because the black magic was so _suffocating_ —to Mandy’s room. She was lying on her bed, hand extended out and creating animals out of her magic. When they all walked in, she sat up in her bed, the animals disappearing into mist. She glared at Ian, an eyebrow raised, climbing out of the bed and walking over to him. “Pretty fucked up curse to put on someone, Gallagher,” she said, running her eyes over him and Lip.

“What is it?” asked Ian. “I don’t know what I did.”

Mandy crossed her arms over her chest. “I can feel people groping me.”

Ian managed to control his mouth before his jaw dropped. “You—”

“And it’s pretty fucking annoying,” Mandy continued. “I mean, you try doing your math homework when you’re feeling people touching your ass or boobs. It’s fucking hard, let me tell you.”

“Uh.” Ian knew how he hexed her, suddenly—earlier in the day, their gross history teacher had walked by Mandy’s desk, an erection tenting his pants. Ian had thought something like _he looks like he wants to grope her, how fucking disgusting_ , and pushed his backpack forward with his foot so that his teacher tripped. Why couldn’t this have hexed the teacher? Why did it have to hex Mandy?

Mandy raised an eyebrow at him. “You do know how to fix it, don’t you?” Sadly, Ian did. If the hex was that she felt people groping her, Ian would actually have to grope her to break it. Mandy must have known it, too, because she said, “Well, get on with it. It’s not like I’m not used to guys touching me like that.” Ian coughed uncomfortably. The last thing he wanted to do was touch Mandy like that, especially with both of their brothers right there. Mandy noticed his hesitation and rolled her eyes. She grabbed his hands and put them on her boobs.

Mickey made an angry noise behind them, and Lip was stifling his laughter, and Ian prayed to some sort of god that this would all end. Mandy’s hands on his made him uncomfortable, only because her hands hurt, sending electric shocks up his arm. _Black magic_ , he thought, shivering slightly. After about two minutes, Mandy put his hands down. “It’s not working,” she said, frowning.

“Maybe you have to touch him back,” Lip said, and Ian was going to kill him when they got back home.

Mandy shrugged, put Ian’s hands back on her boobs, and then put her own hand to the front of Ian’s jeans. Lip kept laughing, and Ian was glad he couldn’t see Mickey’s face. After a moment, Ian felt as though his ears had popped, and Mandy stepped back, smiling. “Thank fuck,” she said, grinning at Mickey. She turned back to Ian. “Thanks, I guess,” she said, “but don’t you ever hex me again.”

Ian nodded. “I’ll try not to,” he said. He turned to leave, grabbing Lip’s arm as he went and hoping to get out as quickly as possible. Mandy was laughing behind him, her magic still gripping at his skin slightly, and Ian didn’t quite like the speculative glint in her eyes.

“Don’t be coming back,” Mickey said as they left, and Ian dipped his head in acknowledgement and tried to pretend like the feel of Mickey’s magic didn’t just make him breathless.

\--

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Mandy said, sitting down by him at lunch. Her skirt touched Ian’s pants, and her magic was cloying his throat, but he tried to focus anyways. “About what happened over the weekend.”

“You mean me hexing you?” Ian took a drink of his water. “What about it?”

“I’ve made many discoveries,” Mandy said, stealing some of Ian’s apple slices. “One: you’re a pretty decent guy.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You didn’t want to touch me like that. I appreciate that, you know. It’s already enough having our disgusting history teacher shoving his dick at me during class, then actually feeling people touching me thanks to your hex, and then having a guy have to touch me to undo the hex. I like that you didn’t want to do it,” she said, crunching down on the apple. Then her smile turned smug. “Then again, that may be because you’re gay.”

Ian’s water bottle slipped through his fingers. “I’m— _what_ , Mandy—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell. Promise.” She held up her pinky. “Magic promise.”

Ian eyed her pinky. “Black magic user,” he said, pushing her hand away. His hand burned at the contact. “Can’t be trusted.”

Mandy straightened. “Fuck you,” she snapped. “You think you’re so high and mighty because you have white magic? You think I asked for black magic?” She shoved him on the shoulder. “Look at us and look at you. You’re hexing people all over the place. Fiona can barely control her magic. Lip’s notorious for love potions, as if that isn’t creepy and gross. When has a single member of my family ever done something like you guys?”

Ian looked away, his stomach squirming. “We don’t mean to,” Ian said, “and you know that black magic is—”

“Is what?” Mandy demanded. “At least we know how to control our magic. Black magic can go bad, sure, if you don’t know how to control it. Just like white magic can.” Mandy snorted. “You think a bunch of Gallaghers can look down on me? On my family? I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “I just . . . you hear stuff about black magic and—”

“Hear what? Stories your family tells you so that you feel like you’re the good guys?” Mandy asked. She turned so that she was facing Ian directly, one leg on either side of the bench. “Typical. You guys are so quick to judge without ever actually listening.” Ian remembered Lip’s disgusted face at their house and bit his lip. Mandy noticed his expression and said, “That’s what I thought.” She took another apple slice. “We should hang out more,” she said, as if she hadn’t just ripped into Ian for judging her. “You’re pretty decent. And maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to look down on me, huh?”

Ian glanced at her. “Don’t you still think it’s hard? I mean, you magic is literally trying to suffocate me right now.”

Mandy laughed. “And yours is making my skin crawl, but I’m glad to know I can have that effect on guys.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s one of those things you have to get used to. And it’s not like it’s a complete nuisance, it’s easy enough to ignore.” That was true—it was mostly the initial contact that made his magic raise its hackles, but he was fine with hanging out with Mandy right now. Ian nodded (a little reluctantly, he had to admit—magic aside, the Milkoviches weren’t exactly warm people) and Mandy smiled. “Maybe today after school?”

Ian shook his head. “I have ROTC after school and then work at the Kash and Grab after that. Maybe then? No one really comes in.”

Mandy said yes and took another one of his apple slices. Ian sighed and just offered them to her, laughing as she grabbed them and said sweetly, “Why, _thank_ you for the offer.”

\--

A lot of things happened:

1) Ian found that Mandy was right. He liked her company, and soon she became his best friend (they also started the rumor that they were dating). They also found out that their magic would always disagree. It toned down after their friendship evolved, but their magic wasn’t as tied to their emotion as they thought. They got used to it, usually laughing over shocking each other if their hands brushed.

2) Lip found out about Ian and Mandy and disapproved, not that Ian cared what Lip thought on that matter. Lip told Fiona, who profusely disapproved. She talked about black magic and Milkoviches in a speech that was very close to the tirade Lip gave him, and the entire time Ian thought, _everything you’re saying is wrong_.

3) Mickey didn’t disapprove in obvious ways, if he disapproved at all. He told Ian the first time he came around that “Just because you touched Mandy that one time doesn’t mean I’ll allow anymore,” to which Ian had snorted and said, “Calm down.” Only then he and Mandy really did started (fake) dating, so maybe Ian was on Mickey’s bad side. It didn’t seem like it. Mickey would make some pizza rolls and play video games with them, stop in the house and talk with Mandy, but otherwise he left them alone.

4) A werewolf attacked, because what else happens when you have magic running through your blood?

\--

Ian was with Lip when it happened. They were returning home from visiting Karen, who could charmspeak. Ian constantly told Lip to give up on Karen—she contained the magic of pleasure, love, and it was extremely dangerous, especially in Karen’s hands—but Lip never listened. He always insisted that Karen truly did like him, could possibly even love him, and yet couldn’t grasp the whole _Karen can literally make you fall in love with her via magic_ part. Lip should know from using so many love potions himself.

They avoided the Milkovich street only because Lip couldn’t stand the black magic, Lip chattering about Karen and the concert they were going to. Ian nodded along and tried to support his brother and hoped Lip wouldn’t get his heart crushed (Lip totally was getting his heart crushed).

As Lip was talking, a wave of magic hit them. Lip coughed, croaked, “Black magic,” and glanced over at the sky. A wave of smoke was coming from the street over. Lip’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Maybe the Milkoviches finally burned their house down,” he said.

“That’s not their house,” Ian said, stopping in his place. “It’s further back—what the fuck is going on?”

Another wave of magic hit them, only when it touched them, it released a hard, piercing scream. Lip covered his ears, but Ian froze, the black magic rushing around him. “That’s _Mandy_ ,” Ian said. “The person screaming, that’s Mandy.” Fear coursed through Ian’s body, and he took off running, Lip shouting behind him. Ian’s training kicked in, and he ran faster than he’d ever felt he had, following Mandy’s magic.

Her magic led him to a large plot with empty, abandoned buildings, one of which had a room on fire. That was Mickey, Ian could feel it, and just as Lip caught up to him, telling him to not go in, Ian raced inside.

It was smoky, but Ian managed to create a bubble of clear air around him and pushed through. The black magic pushed and pulled at him, almost screaming at him to get out, but Ian ignored it and followed the smoke.

A hand grabbed him and pulled him into another room, Ian’s shout getting covered by a hand. The hand hurt, making Ian’s magic race through his blood, but Mickey shouted at him to get his shit together.

“Mandy,” Ian said after pushing Mickey’s hand away. “Where is she? What’s going on?”

“There’s a werewolf,” Mickey said, and Ian’s jaw dropped. “It was attacking her, but I managed to hit it with some fire. Mandy accidentally got burned. You need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without her,” Ian said. “Or you, for that matter. We need to get out of here before the werewolf comes back—”

Mickey shook his head. “It’ll only follow her scent. Right now, the wolf is burned and it can’t smell from the smoke. Only we don’t know where the fuck it is.”

“You guys are fucking useless,” Lip said, appearing in the doorway. “And _this_ is why you use spells.” He came forward, muttering under his breath, and it wasn’t until he got closer that Ian realized that Lip was chanting. Lip’s hands were cupped, and after he stopped speaking, a light shone from his hands. The light receded, and in his hands lay a flower with bright purple petals. _Wolfsbane_. “Take this,” Lip said. “We need to either get Mandy or get out of a smoking building. The werewolf may not be able to smell us, but we can’t see it.”

Mickey nodded, taking one of the flowers from Lip’s hand. “She went this way.” Mickey led them over to a staircase, moving down into another level of the building. Ian kept glancing behind him as they walked down the steps, as he was the last one, but when he turned back—right when they were passing another level—Ian saw movement by the doorway that couldn’t have been any of them.

It all happened so quickly that Ian could hardly track it. He moved forward, pushing Lip out of the way, and instead of Lip getting slammed, a claw raked down Ian’s back. Pain hit Ian so suddenly that he fell, his back and body on fire, his magic screaming, and he blacked out.

\--

Ian didn’t have any nightmares, but that didn’t stop him from waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, fear racing through his body. The fear only increased when he saw a person standing above his bed. Ian sat up, ready to do who the fuck knows what, but he was stopped by a hand on his chest. “Calm down,” the person said, and—

“Mickey?” Ian’s voice was shot, basically, but he spoke anyways. “How did you get in here?” Mickey was in his bedroom in the middle of the night, what the _fuck_.

“No offense or anything to the white magic folk,” Mickey said, reaching over Ian’s head, “but wards are my specialty, and all your pretty spells can’t stop me.”

“You’re in my room,” Ian muttered, rubbing at his eyes. Mickey’s hand was still on his chest, and Ian was shirtless. Ian hardly even noticed the burn of Mickey’s hand on his skin. Ian flushed, quickly moving back, and watched as Mickey hung some tiny trinket on Ian’s headboard. “What are you doing?”

“A favor,” Mickey said.

“Is there a reason you’re being specifically cryptic at one in the morning?”

“Look, you helped out Mandy twice now. It’s the least I can do.” Mickey took another trinket out of his pocket, tying it next to the one he just put on there. Ian reached up to touch one, but Mickey slapped his hand away.

Ian leaned back against the wall to make room and make sure that Mickey wasn’t leaning right over him, but pain washed over him when his back touched the wall. Ian cursed and leaned forward, waiting for the pain to fade.

Mickey laughed. “Don’t you remember? Werewolf scratched you.”

“And you’re laughing at me. Thanks very much.”

Mickey lifted one shoulder in a shrug. The streetlight caught the edge of Mickey’s ear, mostly falling across his neck, and Ian stared at the lines of Mickey’s neck as he reached forward. Ian could just make out his collarbone, and then Ian was aware that he was shirtless and thinking about Mickey Milkovich’s collarbones. Ian bit his tongue, glancing away. He noticed Liam asleep in the bed in the corner.

“How did you not wake them up?” Ian asked, moving so he could be sure that Carl was asleep.

“Silencing spell,” Mickey said, hooking one last trinket over Ian’s headboard. “It’s pretty easy if you know how to do it right.”

“And what’s that?”

Mickey just looked amused. “You silence yourself, not other people.”

“But I can hear you,” Ian said, and then he wondered if this wasn’t a dream too.

“Selective silence.” Mickey stood back, eyeing the trinkets he’d put up. He was apparently satisfied because he put his hand on Ian’s shoulder—Ian’s skin burned again, and Ian was glad it was dark enough for Mickey not to see the flush on Ian’s chest—and pushed at him lightly. “Go back to sleep. And sleep on your stomach, for fucks sake, you got werewolf scratches down your back.”

Ian nodded, certain he was going to be up for hours trying to figure out what Mickey did, but then Mickey raised his hand, eyes flashing, and Ian slipped into sleep.

\--

When Ian woke up, he could tell it was late in the morning. He had that lazy morning feeling that he got about once a year, where everyone else had woken up and he’d somehow stayed asleep, and he was warm and comfortable. Ian rolled over, staring at the ceiling, and caught the trinkets in the corner of his eye.

Last name came rushing back, and Ian sat up, looking over to his headboard. There were five trinkets hanging on a string, and when Ian looked closer, he realized they were _plants_. There was one with long, waxy leaves tied with sharp thorns, another with crushed flower petals in a small bag, but the one that caught Ian’s attention was a cinnamon stick with a purple flower tied to it. Ian recognized the wolfsbane and touched the trinket lightly. Immediately, Ian felt Mickey’s power surge around him, but it didn’t feel like usual black magic. It didn’t burn or shock him, instead curling around him and hugging him tightly, warm and content. Ian almost laughed.

His family looked at him in shock when he walked down the stairs. Vee was there, sitting with a mug of coffee in front of her. She was the modern equivalent of a medicine man, or a midwife maybe, only she mixed potions and modern medicine together. “Ian, what are you doing?” she exclaimed when Ian hit the last step.

“What?” Ian asked.

“You need to be resting,” Vee said, standing up. “You’re only going to hurt yourself more walking around like that, it’ll take weeks before your back is fully healed.”

Ian shrugged, grabbing a glass of orange juice on the counter. “My back feels fine.”

Fiona and Vee glanced at each other, worried, and Fiona motioned for Ian to turn around so they could see his back. He could hear them gasp, making him worried that something was wrong, and then a cold hand touched his back, tracing the marks. Ian braced himself for the incredible pain like last night, but nothing came. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s completely healed over,” Vee said, awe in her voice. “It should have taken weeks to heal and it’s been overnight—Ian, how did you do this?”

“I didn’t.” Everyone looked doubtful, so Ian huffed and led them upstairs to show them the trinkets Mickey had left them.

Fiona, Lip, and Vee crowded around the trinkets, taking them off the headboard and examining them. “They’re healing spells,” Vee said, using her magic to feel them. “This is—incredibly powerful magic, how did you do this?”

“It wasn’t me,” Ian said.

“Well, who else could it have been? No one else can get through the ward—” Lip’s shoulders dropped as he sighed. He turned to Ian, an angry curl to his mouth. “Mickey fucking Milkovich.”

“Again?” Fiona said. She put her hands on her hips, frowning at Ian. “How the hell did he get in?”

“I don’t know, he said he only came by to put those up,” Ian said.

“You _talked_ to him?” Lip exclaimed.  

“God, he probably cursed you or something,” Fiona said, examining one of the trinkets, the leaf beginning to crumble in her hand.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Ian said, already tired of this conversation. He really didn’t feel like doing any explanations.

Vee held up one of the charms, the one that just contained some rosemary and roses. “This isn’t for healing,” she said. “I can’t recognize any of the spells. But the rest of them have healing qualities—I can tell by the plants he used. I’m guessing he magnified the healing powers with his magic.” Vee picked up the trinket with wolfsbane in it. “This was the strongest because it has the wolfsbane in it—that had the quickest healing effect. I wonder how he got the same as you and Lip?”

“I gave him some earlier,” Lip said. “I guess he hadn’t used his in the attack.” He took the rose and rosemary charm from Vee, closing his eyes for a moment. “It’s a sleeping spell,” Lip said. “Probably causes a deep sleep or good dreams. I can’t tell.”

“Are we done?” Ian asked, annoyance dripping from his tone. Fiona nodded and left with Vee, but Lip pulled Ian behind and raised one of the trinkets at him. “What, mad he could do something you couldn’t?” Ian said as he pulled on a shirt.

Lip glared at him and threw the trinket at Ian. “You need to get over this crush you have on Mickey,” Lip said.

“What— _crush_ —”

“Yes, Ian, crush! You have a crush on Mickey.” Lip snorted. “I have no idea how, but you do. And I can already tell you that it isn’t going to work. Just—you guys can’t even touch without burning your hand off or—”

“Can we skip this?” Ian interrupted. “I got mauled by a werewolf yesterday and I’m hungry and I’d rather not be lectured today. Does that sound good for you?”

Ian tried to walk out of the room, but Lip blocked the door for a moment. “He’s not good for you,” Lip said.

“Not that I have a crush on him,” Ian said through gritted teeth, “but I’ll let off of Mickey when you let off of Karen. Since we’re speaking of people that aren’t good for us. Sound good?”

An impassive expression crossed Lip’s face, and he stepped back to let Ian pass. Ian tried to swallow the slight victory he felt, but it was overshadowed by the thought that Lip was right about his feelings for Mickey.

\--

Ian was pretty sure that Linda was magical in some way, because there was no way a normal person could deal with all the chaos in her life and still remain as impeccable as she was. He liked to think she was some type of fairy, or maybe a witch, but even if she was human, she still had her life much more put together than Ian ever would, and he did have magic on his side.

Ian never asked Linda about it for fear of being wrong and spilling the beans, basically, but it didn’t mean that he never used his magic at work. Ian didn’t tell her that he managed to put a spell on the floor so that it always remained spotless, or that he charmed the area by the door so that any shoplifters would be caught immediately, or that he once hexed Kash so that he felt like throwing up every forty-five minutes (he still didn’t feel guilty about that one).

His work was boring, really, compared to the rest of his life, but sometimes he liked the quiet. It was somewhere his family never went, a place where he could be mechanical and normal, and where he could actually get some peace and quiet. He always worked best at his homework during the empty periods of the Kash and Grab. He felt his magic soothe down to something tame and almost obedient.

It was why he was so surprised when, during an empty period where he was working on his homework, he felt his magic jump out of him, almost excited. A second later, the door opened, bell ringing, and Mickey walked in. Ian managed to calm his magic down, but not his racing heartbeat.

Ian watched as Mickey picked out some food and a Gatorade, fidgeting as he kept his magic under control. It was sort of driving Ian insane, just sitting there and watching Mickey walk around, and all Ian could to to express this was tapping his pencil like crazy against his homework.

Finally Mickey made it to the register, but that was almost worst. Mickey was quiet, but there was something in the way he was looking at Ian that made Ian want to do bad things. “That was quite a spell back there,” Mickey said, his voice startling Ian. “What was it for? I couldn’t tell.”

Ian almost smiled. “Shoplifters, so don’t even try,” he said, looking at the items in Mickey’s hands pointedly.

That got Mickey to laugh, laying his items down on the counter. “I would never,” Mickey said, and Ian glanced at him disbelievingly as he punched in Mickey’s items into the cash register. “Alright, well. Not to you.” He licked his lips. “Your back alright?”

Ian nodded. “Healed overnight. Thank you, by the way.” He punched in Mickey’s Gatorade. “Also, don’t ever put a spell on me again,” Ian said.

“The fuck? I heal you and you say—”

“I meant the sleeping spell. And not the one in your little plant project. I mean right before you left, you waved your hand and I fell asleep. Don’t do it again.” Ian pushed all of Mickey’s items towards him. “Six-nineteen.” Mickey put his hands in his pockets for a very long moment. “Please tell me you have money,” Ian said, “or I swear—”

“Jesus, you’re panicky,” Mickey said. He pulled ten dollars from his pocket and handed it over, the slight brush of their fingers sending sparks up his arm. The sparks didn’t hurt, only made the hair raise on the back of Ian’s neck, and Ian pretended that he didn’t like it. Ian watched in amazement as Mickey took out a cigarette and lit the end with his finger.

“Mickey,” Ian hissed, glancing over at the camera. “There are fucking cameras—”

“And I disabled them before I came in,” Mickey said, grinning around the cigarette. He blew the smoke in Ian’s face as Ian got Mickey’s change, so Ian whispered a small switching spell under his breath. Mickey took the cigarette out of his mouth in disbelief, coughing slightly. “Did you just fucking hex my cigarette so that it smells like baked bread?”

“Yes.” Ian grinned at him. “And it smells fucking delicious.”

“It tastes like it too,” Mickey said, shaking the cigarette out like that would change the smell. The scent of baked bread wafted around, and Ian smiled, glad that a spell worked for once. They were rare occasions, and Ian was glad that it worked first time.

“So how do you know how do all those healing spells?”

Mickey let out smoke through his nose, and Ian pretended like it wasn’t as attractive as he thought it was. “My father is a piece of shit,” Mickey said. “Mandy figured that our magic was powerful enough to heal ourselves, so she learned some spells. Turns out, I’m better at some fucking plant magic than actual spells.”

“You learned them yourselves?” Ian asked, putting Mickey’s stuff in a bag. Mickey nodded. “And you’re not . . . chaotic with it? Nothing goes wrong?”

“Your back is healed, isn’t it?”

As if it was always that easy. Ian sighed. “Yes, it is. And thanks again. It really . . . I saw the scar and I can’t even imagine what the wound was like.”

Mickey’s fingers twitched, and even in such a small gesture, Ian could feel the switch in his magic. “It was bad,” Mickey said, voice quiet. “Bloody, festering. You were passed out on the floor. Lip and I carried you home. Werewolves will do that to you **.** ”

“Oh.” Ian hadn’t known that, only remembered the pain lacing his back and passing out. “I feel like I owe you or something,” he said, “for helping me.”

“Like a favor?” Mickey said. “We’ll just keep owing each other. I’ll do a favor for you, so you’ll do one for me, then I’ll do you . . .” Ian stared at him, because—there was no way Mickey didn’t know what he was saying. “I don’t think I like owing favors to a Gallagher.”

“A Gallagher or a white magician?” Ian asked.

Mickey laughed. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Happens to be. Do you have a problem with me, then?” Ian asked.

The smoke curled out of Mickey’s mouth in a way that made Ian crave a cigarette himself. Or maybe Mickey’s mouth. “I have many problems with you,” he said, but his voice was low and he was almost smirking and fuck. _Shut up, shut up_ , Ian thought, _you’re making me want to kiss you_ , but maybe it would be better if Ian shut Mickey up by kissing him. It was rather worrying. Mickey needed to leave.

Almost as if his prayers were answered, a man walked in the door. Mickey glanced over at the man, smiled at Ian as he grabbed his bag, and left the store. Ian groaned and pressed his hand to his mouth, silently cursing Mickey (and not in a magical way).

The man approached the counter with two bags of chips in his hands. “Is it just me, or does it smell like someone’s baking bread?” he asked. Ian agreed, trying to stifle a laugh, and began to check his items.

\--

Mandy called the house when Ian was eating with his family, pressed together in the living room, and Lip sighed as he handed over the phone.

Ian couldn’t even get in a “Hey, Mandy,” before Mandy was saying, “You need to get over here.”

“Where?”

“My house. I’m serious, Ian. I mean right fucking now.”

Ian glanced at his family, all eyes on the TV except for Lip. “What happened?”

“You cursed Mickey.”

“ _What_?”

“Can you get over here already?” Mandy huffed. “Now, Ian.” She hung up without another word, leaving Ian to put the phone back and curse his life.

“What’s wrong?” Lip asked when Ian pulled on his jacket. “Going to Mandy’s?”

“I cursed Mickey, apparently,” Ian said, and then glared at Lip and Fiona when they laughed. “A little support would be helpful, thanks.”

The walk to Mandy’s felt like it took ages. By the time Ian got to the Milkovich house, his stomach was crawling with nerves, worried that he’d hexed Mickey in a way that he couldn’t fix.

Mandy wasn’t as mad with him as Mickey had been when Ian had hexed her. She opened the door, said, “Finally,” and pulled him into the house. They’d moved some furniture around in the living room, and Ian almost tripped over the edge of the couch. “It’s one of your typical hexes, I think,” Mandy was explaining.

“What happened to him?”

“He can’t speak. It’s like he’s gone mute.” Mandy pushed into Mickey’s room, telling him that, “I’ve got Ian and we can fix this.”

Mickey glared at Ian from where he was smoking by the window. It wasn’t the same cigarette as earlier, as it didn’t smell like bread in the room.

“So, I made you mute?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded, flicking some ash onto the carpet. Mandy settled onto Mickey’s bed. The smoke curling around Mickey’s face caught his attention. “It wasn’t the cigarette, was it? Because I made it smell like bread?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, waving his hand in the air. The words _No, I spoke after that_ appeared in the air. Ian looked to Mandy, who explained, “I put a spell on him that allows him to spell out his thoughts in the air.”

“Okay, well, when could you not speak?”

“I came home about ten minutes ago,” Mandy said. “No one else was home, so I guess Mick just kept to his own thoughts? I don’t know. But he tried speaking to me and couldn’t, so I called you.”

Ian sighed. “Thanks for assuming it was automatically me.”

“It literally couldn’t be anyone else, he reeks of white magic,” Mandy said, laughing. “Alright, then your conversation. When was the last time Mickey spoke?”

Mickey spelled out _It was_ and then stopped, glancing at Ian. Ian frowned, trying to remember and wondering why Mickey had stopped. Mickey had said _I have many problems with you_ , but that didn’t have any relevance. Then again, it hadn’t been Ian’s history teacher’s erection that caused the curse, it had been Ian’s thoughts afterwards. And after Mickey said _I have many problems with yo_ u, Ian had thought about kissing Mickey. And wishing that Mickey would stop talking. By kissing him.

Ian had a sinking feeling that they were connected in the curse, just like groping Mandy had been key in breaking hers.

Mandy looked between them. “Am I missing something? Do you know how to break it?”

Ian nodded, managed to croak out a “Yeah.” He and Mickey had a very long staring contest, Mickey glaring at him through the cigarette smoke, so Ian just shook himself and walked over to Mickey. He had groped Mandy without even knowing her at all—he could kiss Mickey. He could.

When Ian got close to Mickey and touched his shoulder, Mickey jerked back a little, as if surprised by Ian touching him. “I have—” Ian sighed. “I have to kiss you.” Ian was really glad that Mickey couldn’t talk, but if the saying _if looks could kill_ ever applied to anyone, it was Mickey at that moment. Ian winced at Mickey’s scowl but waited for him to come around to the idea. Mickey’s eyes flitted over to Mandy for a moment, his angry expression flashing to one of concern, and Ian had the smallest moment of _holy shit, Mickey is gay_ before Mickey was leaning up and pressing his mouth to Ian’s.

Mickey’s mouth was on Ian’s and his hand was on Ian’s neck and the contact felt like a spark, like electrocution. Ian was a firework, sparks dancing across his skin from the excitement in Mickey’s magic, and the press of Mickey’s mouth was the flame. The kiss was quick, but Ian was igniting, up his spine and across his shoulders and making his head dizzy, and he could still feel the sparks when Mickey pulled away, looking just as fucked as Ian felt. His hand was still on Ian’s skin and Ian was going to be up until the morning feeling the burn of Mickey’s mouth on his and then Mickey grinned and said, “It worked.”

Ian was absolutely fucked.

\--

It became one of those things that they never _actually_ spoke about but were usually speaking about through innuendo—the least they did was hint at it. It also became a thing that Ian obsessed over, especially since Mickey hung around the Kash and Grab a lot more now. He usually leaned against the counter and smoked a cigarette (when Linda wasn’t there—Ian still charmed the smoke to smell nice) or just talked to Ian and helped Ian with homework problems.

It was also nice to talk to Mickey about magic. They found that their magic had about two similarities but was otherwise completely different. It still didn’t stop them from talking about their experiences. Ian talked about lacking guidance for his magic and the problem he has with hexing, and Mickey told him about his mother and how she liked to mix magic and drugs. “She said it was an otherworldly experience,” Mickey told Ian one day, “and that was the reason we had magic was to experience that.” Mickey shook his head, almost grimacing. “It was the magic that killed her in the end, not the drugs. I’ve never wanted to do what she did, no matter how many times she told me she was living amongst the stars.”

Mickey tried to teach Ian some spells, but that’s pretty much how they figured out that their magic was different. If Ian did manage to get a spell right (it was rare), something would always be off. Mickey could charm the cameras so that they were disabled, but if Ian tried the same, it would only cause the cameras to blur the image, not shut off completely. Mickey shrugged it off, saying it wasn’t that much of a problem, but it still frustrated Ian to no end.

Their discussions about magic felt different from talking about it with his family because Mickey had an entire different look about it. “Do you ever feel like you’re going to explode?”

“My magic?” Ian said. “All the fucking time.”

“But the type of magic.”

Ian frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sometimes, it feels like all I want to do is wreck something. My magic feels angry and like it’s going to explode out of me and do some real fucking damage.” Mickey shrugged, glancing at Ian. “I think that’s what my father taught us. He taught us to tie our magic to our anger, and that’s how we’d become more powerful, because anger itself is powerful. That’s the only way he knows how to use his own magic. But I don’t like that way. It’s too dangerous, and that feeling of explosion . . .” Mickey shook himself, avoiding Ian’s eyes.

But Ian felt like he did know. Maybe not in a dangerous way like Mickey’s, but reckless, hopeless. Mickey came near him and his magic itched along his skin, excited, wanting to push and push away from Ian until it reached Mickey. Ian remembered the way his skin had burned and the way Mickey’s mouth had felt on his and thought, _yes, I know about explosion_.

Mandy was the type of person to use her magic liberally, much more so than (Ian thought) Mickey did. The only times Ian saw Mickey use it was to teach Ian a spell, light his cigarette, or disable the cameras (and even then, Ian didn’t see Mickey do it, Mickey just told Ian that he did it). Mandy liked to use it everywhere—school, movies, her house, the Kash and Grab. She told him that stealing was much easier with magic, which of course Ian knew (he and Lip hadn’t gotten caught yet), but he let Mandy tell him stories of runs she and her family did. They’d be walking down the street and she’d hex the trees so that more leaves fell, or she’d hex a guy’s belt in the hallway at school so that his pants fell down.

Ian liked when the three of them got drunk in their house (Fiona still wouldn’t let them in the Gallagher house, but Mickey had just laughed and said, “Like your wards could keep me out.”) and used their magic, because the spells rolled of their tongues clumsily and they always fucked up. Mandy would slur a summoning spell so that the beer didn’t go to her, but lifted off the table and fell onto the ground. Ian was by far the worse, but most of the spells he tried were harmless, like trying to create a flower in his palms or turn the beer into water (he just managed to magically dump water on his head). One time they got in a very heated discussion on how they would choose teleportation—Mandy argued for something close to disapparating in Harry Potter, Mickey argued for broomsticks, and Ian said he would fuck up whatever magic he’d use, so broomsticks seemed pretty safe.

“You two are so idiotic!” Mandy said, throwing up her hands. “Broomsticks? _Broomsticks_? That’d be such a hassle! Why not just be able to whisper a spell or something and _poof_! You’re in fucking Los Angeles in three seconds flat? That shit would be so much easier.” She took another drag of her cigarette. “Broomsticks,” she repeated, snorting. “Fucking idiots, the both of you. Why would you even want to ride broomsticks?”

Mickey laughed. “I happen to enjoy riding a _lot_ ,” he said, grinning at Mandy. Mandy burst out laughing and threw an empty beer can at Mickey. Ian choked on his own beer, covering his mouth and trying to calm down his flush, but all it did was catch Mickey’s attention. Mickey’s grin turned into a smirk when he looked at Ian, his tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek, and Ian’s body went hot. He fumbled with his beer can and looked away, but he could feel Mickey’s eyes on him the rest of the night and couldn’t breathe.

(Later that night, when Ian was waiting for Mandy to get her shoes, fiddling with the doorknob, Mickey walked up to him and put a cooling spell on Ian because it was eleven at night and summer was creeping closer. Ian could feel the spell settle, hear Mandy tell him to wait another moment, and Mickey raised his hand and touched the side of Ian’s neck lightly. Ian’s breath caught in his throat, words failing him completely, and as Mickey dragged his fingers lightly down Ian’s throat, Ian had to remind himself that both of them were drunk. It probably explained why Ian leaned into Mickey’s touch despite the flare of heat and pain at Mickey’s touch, why Ian exhaled, “ _Mickey_ —”

Mandy came out of her room, pulling her left shoe and stumbling a bit, and Mickey dropped his hand. Mickey leaned back against the wall and told Mandy to be safe as she and Ian walked out the door. Ian touched his neck on the walk home and thought, _this has to end_.)

\--

The next time Ian was in the Milkovich house, Mickey pulled him aside, raised up a dark blue bowl full of mini Snickers. “What the fuck is this?” Mickey asked.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bowl of mini Snickers.”

Mickey’s expression shifted so that he was glaring at Ian. “Fuck you. Why is it in my room?”

“You’ve eaten some, haven’t you?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded. “So you should know why they’re in your room.”

Mickey put down the bowl, back on the side table where Ian had originally put it. He looked very unimpressed. “Is there a particular reason why you put a bowl of Snickers that always refills itself when it gets empty?”

Ian shrugged, pretending to be innocent. “You like Snickers, so . . . I just charmed the bowl. You can easily take the charm off.”

Mickey glanced down at the bowl. “I thought we weren’t doing this favors shit.”

“It isn’t a favor.”

Mickey tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Really.”

“Yes, really. It’s just a gift, Mickey.”

“Just a gift,” Mickey repeated. “Ian, what happened when I was hexed, when you hexed me. That was only to break the curse, nothing more.”

Which they both knew was total bullshit, so Ian just smiled. “I never said this had anything to do with kissing you.”

It was the first time either of them had really acknowledged it directly, and Ian’s stomach twisted. Mickey tried to appear disapproving, but Ian could see the corners of his mouth curling up. “Well, it’s a shit gift,” Mickey said. “You could do better.”

Ian laughed. “I don’t see anyone else showing me up.”

Mickey picked up one of the mini Snickers and ate it. “I guess I’ll have to show you how.”

And thus began courtship through magic.

\--

Ian wasn’t exactly sure what Mickey was going to do—he kept coming into his bedroom and checking everything, just to make sure he found whatever (he thought) Mickey was going to leave—and he found himself anticipating it. Carl began giving him weird looks every time Ian tore through his part of the bedroom. “What did you lose?” Carl asked, and Ian waved him off and stammered out some excuse.

Lip noticed Ian’s constant buzz, and asked him about his increased paranoia. “Did you hex a Milkovich and now they’re out to get you?” he asked, laughing a bit, and Ian thought that it was close enough to the truth.

Ian found out later in the week. He’d come back from ROTC practice exhausted, and working at the Kash and Grab only made him even more exhausted because no one came in and he just wanted to sleep. Mickey came in, noticed Ian’s aggravation, and basically tried to back off. Tried being the main word, because he was also laughing at Ian at the same time and Ian was so not awake enough to poke back.

He came home late, ready to eat dinner—even if it was only mac and cheese, Ian wolfed it down—and went up to his bed to pass out, hoping sleep would catch him quickly.

He woke up in the morning feeling the most rested he’d ever felt in his life, body energized and brain awake, and he stared at the ceiling with just a little bit of shock. The sun was shining through the blinds, high in the sky, so obviously Ian had also slept in (a rare occasion), and when Ian attempted to sit up, he noticed a small object resting in his hand. When he examined it, it was a small trinket, the rose petals and rosemary covered in Mickey’s magic. Ian remembered Lip saying it caused a deep sleep or good dreams, and considering Ian’s well-rested body, it was definitely the deep sleep.

“I still think mine was better,” Ian said when Mickey was at the Kash and Grab.

“Oh really?” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “So you didn’t appreciate it?”

“I did, I just think mine was better. Just because of reliability.”

“ _Reliability_?”

“My Snickers bowl can last you for quite a long time—the spell won’t wear off for weeks. But your charm only lasted one night.” Ian grinned at Mickey. “We’ll work on your stamina at some point.”

Mickey groaned. “Oh my god, shut the _fuck_ up. Besides, it’s your turn next,” Mickey said. “You gotta top what you already did.”

Ian nodded like it wasn’t a big deal, but the truth was, he had no idea what to do.

\--

Mickey obviously knew that Ian was struggling, but he wasn’t going to give Ian time to think of something else. (In Ian’s defense, he hadn’t known that he’d get into a contest over best magical gift and so he hadn’t thought of anything else to give Mickey). Every morning, Ian woke up with some type of trinket in his hand or under his pillow. He didn’t know how Mickey did it (did Mickey magic them to Ian? Did he actually come into the house?) but they were there for about two weeks straight.

It was also the best sleep Ian had ever gotten, and Mickey loved to comment on it. On a night where Ian had dreamt of a good time when Fiona had some extra money and they’d all gone out to eat and woken up calm, Mickey had asked, “Good dream?” with a smirk on his face. Ian wanted to shove it in Mickey’s face, but he also thought back to the dream and just nodded instead, giving Mickey a small, “Thanks.”

So sometimes Ian had good dreams, sometimes Ian had such a deep sleep that he felt well rested, and at the end of the second week, Ian asked, “Don’t you get tired of it?”

Mickey looked up from where he was rolling a joint. “What?”

“Making the same spells over and over again.” Ian watched the way Mickey’s tongue dragged against the paper. Ian's stomach clenched. “It doesn’t get boring?”

“No.” Mickey glanced up at Ian, amused. “Why, are you bored?” Ian shrugged, which made Mickey laugh. “Fine, asshole. I can change it up. You just have to accept.”

“What is this, _Mission: Impossible_? ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it’—”

“I’m serious, Ian. I’m asking your permission.” Mickey looked away. “There’s a reason you don’t play around with love potions, and it’s about fucking consent.”

“Are you putting a love potion on me?”

Mickey shot him an unimpressed look. “No. But I just want to make sure that what I do charm your sleep with, you’ll be alright with it.”

Ian considered it for a moment. “I think I’ll be fine.”

Mickey shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips again. “Alright, if you say so.”

“What the fuck are you going to do?”

Mickey was definitely smirking now. “There’s just one thing I want you to know,” he said, looking at Ian. “Whatever happens . . . that’s all you. I put the charm on, but whatever you’re seeing is all in your head, and I didn’t influence it in any way.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “Now I’m fucking curious as hell, what are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Mickey laughed. “You’ll _definitely_ see.”

\--

That night Ian didn’t dream about his family or any good memory—he dreamed about Mickey. Mickey’s mouth on his skin, Mickey’s fingers following, and everything seemed to rush together. Ian’s room was empty and Mickey was pushing him back against the bed, mouth along his jaw, body weight pressing down. Ian arched up into Mickey’s touch, desperately wanting any type of friction, and Mickey laughed against Ian’s throat.

“ _Mickey_ ,” Ian said, frustrated and hard and pulling at Mickey’s shirt. It slipped easily over his head, messing up his hair, and Ian ran his hand through it, tightened his hold, pulled Mickey’s mouth down to his. Ian was burning up, not from the sparks of their magic—that was absent—but from the heat of Mickey’s body, the tension coiling in Ian’s gut. Mickey’s hands slipped under Ian’s shirt, lifting the shirt up. The shirt got caught on one of Ian’s shoulders, and Mickey laughed.

“You’re fucking useless,” he said, throwing the shirt aside. Mickey was still laughing when Ian kissed him again, and after that it they hardly spoke at all except to say each other’s names every once in a while. Mickey’s grin was wicked whenever Ian looked at him, and they were both breathless, sweaty from the close contact. They soon set up a rhythm with the way Mickey pressed down, grinding down against Ian, and Ian gasped into Mickey’s neck with every roll of Mickey’s hips.

Mickey’s mouth was on Ian’s when Ian came, and Ian watched the way Mickey’s eyes closed and his head tipped back when Mickey came and thought: _this. This is what real magic feels like_.

\--

Ian woke up and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to imprint the dream into his skin, his brain. He could still feel the way Mickey pressed their foreheads together, the way his skin felt under Ian’s hands. Ian didn’t even have to check for the trinket Mickey left him—he could feel it in his palm, something soft and silky.

It wasn’t like Ian had a wet dream or he’d have to go wash his sheets now, but everything had felt so real. He could still feel the aftermath of his orgasm, the pleasantness and laziness of afterglow, and yet it hadn’t affected him physically.

Ian glared at Mickey when he went to visit Mandy, which only made Mickey burst out laughing. “You should see your fucking face,” Mickey said.

“You hexed me so I would have a _sex dream_!”

Mickey shrugged, looking smug. “I told you I could change it up. Why, have a good dream? I don’t think your own mind would create a bad dream.”

Like there was any way in hell Ian was telling Mickey what he dreamed. “You’re the one who hexed me.”

Mickey shook his head, smile getting larger. “I only gave you a charm that would give you a sex dream. It’s the same charm for everyone, but who they have the sex with . . . That’s from their own mind. If I had given it to Lip, he’d probably lust over Karen Jackson. Whoever you thought of, that was all you.” Mickey raised an eyebrow. “So, was it good or not?”

Ian was hit with the sudden realization that Mickey knew exactly who Ian had dreamed of. “You know what, it was fucking great,” Ian said. He dropped his voice a little lower. “You really missed out on that one, I think.”

Mickey laughed. “I don’t think I did.”

Ian didn’t know what to say—so Mickey had sex dreams about Ian and Ian had sex dreams about Mickey and yet neither of them were doing anything. A part of Ian didn’t want to do anything because, “I’m _not_ going to let you win,” Ian said, and besides, the end result was the same: actually getting together.

That’s why Ian didn’t even bother arguing when Mickey fished out a cigarette, lit it with his magic, and said, “I’m winning either way.”

And because Mickey just gave Ian his next idea.

\--

Ian wasn’t exactly sure what was inside e-cigarettes, so trying to empty one proved pretty hard. Eventually he used a see-through spell to see what was inside, used the internet to figure out exactly what the parts were, and then used a clearing spell to empty it. It took about two days to figure out, and then Ian had to figure out how to exactly make his magic stay in there.

Eventually he took out Lip’s old spellbook and flipped through it, looking for some kind of spell that would keep his magic inside the e-cigarette. When he found a compressing spell and tried it out on the cigarette, Ian was surprised to see that it worked.

Now to perfect it.

When he was finally done—after a total of five days and copious amounts of teasing from Mickey—he put the e-cigarette on Mickey’s pillow when Mickey wasn’t home.

He felt so ridiculously victorious that he took Mandy’s hand (despite his magic protesting) and said, “Let’s go shopping.”

She let him lead her off the couch, but she was frowning. “Don’t have any money, remember?”

Ian grinned, squeezing her hand. “No, but we have experience in theft and magic.”

Mandy grinned back at Ian, nodding her head, and even though his hand burned the entire way there (and he’s sure her hand burned too), she didn’t let go. 

\--

Mickey didn’t drop by the Kash and Grab, was absent every time Ian came to the Milkovich house, and stopped leaving any trinkets under Ian’s pillow. It made Ian worried, especially when it hit the third day. By the fifth day, Ian was basically out of his mind. He’d left Mickey a cigarette filled with his magic—did he get the wrong idea? Did he even use it? Was he able to use it, or was Ian’s magic something he couldn’t touch? Had Mickey changed his mind about wanting to be with Ian?

Ian let it go by for a week. He could handle not talking to Mickey for a week (he tried to remember the last time he hadn’t talked to Mickey and was slightly horrified that he couldn’t even remember). His magic was never happy. It itched when he was with Mickey and it itched without him.

As if the universe was rewarding him for waiting, on the seventh day, Mickey walked in a minute before Ian’s shift ended. Ian was so shocked to see him (alright, at first he’d been peeved that someone had walked in a _minute_ before his shift ended), but once he noticed that it was Mickey, he fumbled with the keys.

Mickey watched Ian catch the keys with amusement, saying, “I didn’t think you were that clumsy before.” Ian was too shocked to even glare, and Mickey rolled his eyes. “Come on, we have somewhere to be right now. I do have a shit ton of explaining to do.”

Ian followed Mickey to some dugouts that he remembered playing at. Ian hadn’t been there in over eight years, but for some reason, his magic faintly tainted the air. Mickey must have noticed the shift in Ian’s expression, because he said, “Explanation’s coming soon, hold your fucking horse.” He sat on the back of the bench, feet on where you’re supposed to sit, and put his hand in his pocket. When he pulled the object out, it was an e-cigarette. Not the one Ian had given him, because Ian’s had been black, and this one was dark blue. When Ian reached out to take it, he realized that it was filled with Mickey’s magic.

Mickey must have done the same thing Ian did.

“Just so you know,” Ian said, taking the cigarette from Mickey and reveling in the wash of Mickey’s magic over his skin, “copying my gift doesn’t mean you win the competition.”

Mickey laughed, motioning to Ian’s hand. “Just put the fucking cigarette in your mouth, okay?”

Ian was slightly skeptical, but he had been curious the entire week about why Mickey was avoiding him, so he took a drag of the cigarette. And felt like he was going to pass out.

It was possibly the strongest thing he’d ever taken in his life, and he wasn’t even sure he could explain what it felt like. He was vaguely aware of Mickey laughing at him, saying something about “your face, holy fuck,” but all he could feel was Mickey’s magic. And it didn’t just feel like Mickey’s magic, like some random black magic that was disassociated with anything entered Ian’s body. It was so obviously _Mickey_ —the way Mickey’s magic worked through his body, the feelings associated and running along Mickey’s magic, the way it was excited, eager, mingling with Ian’s magic and almost twining together. It was easily the most intimate thing Ian had ever experienced, more so than the dream he had of Mickey.

It didn’t stop—Ian pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, had almost dropped it when the magic took over, but the magic still lingered along his skin, felt it wrap around his muscles and heartbeat. Mickey’s magic didn’t burn or clash with Ian’s at all, just intertwined. It didn’t feel like black magic at all, only Mickey, and this was far better than the heady rush of touching Mickey. _This is what kissing Mickey feels like_ , Ian thought, _like magic pouring into my body_ , and then all Ian could do was laugh.

“It’s a fucking ride, isn’t it?” Mickey asked, a light smile on his face.

Ian shook his head, trying to clear his mind of Mickey’s magic, but it still clung on. “How long does that fucking last?” he asked.

“Four days,” Mickey said, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t realize how fucking powerful it was going to be”— _Neither did I_ , Ian thought, glancing down at the e-cigarette—“and I tried it when I first found it. I almost had a fucking heart attack. I decided that if I wanted to use it, I’d have to go somewhere that I could be by myself, somewhere you wouldn’t stumble across.” Mickey waved his hand lazily at the dugouts. “I knew I couldn’t be near you,” he continued, meeting Ian’s eyes, “because I think something bad would happen if I got near your magic. Or you in general.”

Ian’s fingers twitched around the cigarette. “How come I can touch your magic in this, but I can’t touch you?”

Mickey’s eyes dropped to the cigarette briefly. “Uncontrolled versus controlled magic, I think. When you touch the cigarette or my trinkets, it’s controlled magic, already used, so it’s fine with coming into contact with you. Touching me, on the other hand, is chaotic magic. When chaotic magic meets chaotic magic . . .”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed, and the last remnants of the cigarette—of Mickey’s magic—still weren’t wearing off, but Ian still wanted more. His fingers curled around the cigarette. “Yeah,” Ian said again, eyes focused on Mickey’s mouth, and he didn’t feel guilty at all when he ended up dropping the cigarette when Mickey pulled him close and kissed him.

It was better than Ian had imagined or remembered—their only other kiss had been seconds at most, and the one in his dream hadn’t been real. But there was no denying that Mickey was real now, hot and demanding against Ian’s body, hands fisting in Ian’s hair and clothes. It felt like Ian was inhaling Mickey’s magic, pulling in more every time his tongue met Mickey’s tongue, and every time their skin brushed, heat would rocket down Ian’s body. The kiss was awkward and clumsy at first, mouths askew and noses pressing together, but then Ian put his hands on Mickey’s jaw to keep him still and it was way better. It became less clumsy and more messy, only because they were so passionate. Ian moved his mouth away to press kisses to Mickey’s jaw and neck, Mickey’s hands gripping Ian harder and pulling him closer. Ian had just begun sucking a bruise onto Mickey’s neck, Mickey’s thigh shifting between Ian’s leg, when all the grass between the pitcher’s mound and the bases caught on fire.

The flare of heat up Ian’s back was so intense that it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t from Mickey's touch. Ian pushed away, startled, and Mickey was already running out of the dugout to the field. Ian’s magic was frantic, feeling the power of their intertwined magic in the fire, and Ian pushed himself off the ledge and went to help Mickey. The fire wasn’t large—it hardly went higher than their ankles—but it was widespread, and a violent reminder that they couldn’t actually touch. Ian nudged Mickey with his elbow, pointing to the sprinklers nearby, and Mickey nodded. They both uttered spells that turned them on—a simple, basic spell—and the sprinklers put the fire out in less than a minute.

“Fuck,” Ian said, staring at the scorched earth where the grass had been and wondering how this could possibly be explained. 

“Fuck,” Mickey repeated, looking at Ian. Ian looked at Mickey and wished he hadn’t, not the way his clothes were rumpled or his lips red. “We need to get around this. Somehow, before I lose my fucking mind from not being able to touch you.”

Ian nodded fervently.

\--

Even Mandy acknowledged it as a problem.

“Listen, Ian,” she said as they walked back from the Kash and Grab, “you only have two options.”

“Which are?”

“One: you give up this incredibly stupid crush on my brother.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me that wasn’t your only option.”

She punched his shoulder. “Option two: use your fucking magic.”

“Our magic is the whole reason why we can’t do anything in the first place.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Your uncontrolled magic is why you can’t do anything. Find a way to tame your magic, and you guys can fuck to your hearts content.” Mandy grimaced. “Ew, that’s fucking disgusting. Please, when you do fuck, do it when I’m not in the house, okay? 

“Promise.” Ian bumped his shoulder into Mandy’s. “You make everything sound so simple.”

“That’s because the two of you are idiots, and I have to be the one with the brain. Men are fucking useless—it’s why women were invented, to think for them.” She glanced at Ian. “Broomsticks, Ian, you both chose _broomsticks_. I should have known you two would be inept.” 

Ian couldn’t help but laugh.

\--

Later that night, Ian stole Lip’s spellbook.

He gave it to Mickey and Mandy, because they all knew they were better at magic than he was.

\--

Fiona decided to pull Ian aside and have a very long discussion about his magic and the influence the Milkoviches were having on it.

“What,” Ian said, wondering how in the hell Fiona could know anything.

“The baseball field?” Fiona prompted. She was using her gentle, motherly voice, the one Ian refused to fall for anymore. “It was scorched, Ian. It had both black and white magic—Lip went and checked it out. If you and Mandy and Mickey are going around and making fires—”

“Why would we do that?” Ian interrupted.

“I don’t know, Ian,” Fiona said, clearly frustrated. “I’m _asking_ you why you thought it was a good idea to set a baseball field on fire!”

There was no way that Ian was telling Fiona the truth, so he said, “It was an accident.” Which, he guessed, was some semblance of the truth.

Fiona leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair and making it stick up even more. “Right. An _accident_. Just like it was an accident that you hexed Mandy, an accident that you hexed Mickey, an accident that you got attacked by a werewolf— 

“I never asked for those things to happen!” Ian exclaimed. “You know our magic is hectic, you know what it’s like! Mandy and Mickey have far more control than me—notice how all of those things, except for a fucking werewolf attack, was _me_. _I_ accidentally hexed Mandy and Mickey, _I_ accidentally set the field on fire.”

Fiona frowned and said in a soft voice, “I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Fiona,” Ian said, taking her hand and trying to reassure her. “Mandy and Mickey help me, if anything.” Fiona nodded, and even though he could tell she was still upset, she let him go upstairs. Before he got halfway up the stairs, he heard her calling him back. He went down to the bottom steps. “Lip told me,” she said, still sitting in the chair. “Lip told me how you were falling for Mickey.”

Ian was going to hex Lip. _On purpose_. “Lip is a traitorous bastard,” Ian said, knowing it would confirm what she said. “And I’m not falling for Mickey.” A lie, but Ian didn't feel any guilt over it. 

“No?” Fiona smirked. “Then what’s going on between you two?”

Ian put on an innocent face. “Nothing’s going on with Mickey, Fiona. If anything, I only wanna be broom mates.”

Ian went back up the stairs to the sound of Fiona’s laughter.

\--

And Ian knew when it was finally over when Mickey called the house— _Mickey_ called the house. Mandy had called one of her friends and was staying over at her house for the night, and Ian didn’t exactly know how he was going to tell Fiona that there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he wasn’t coming home tonight.

He’d leave it up to Lip to tell her.

He practically ran over to the Milkovich house, pushing through the door and not even bothering to lock it (he’d learned that there were wards over the Milkovich house, too, but Ian didn’t exactly know how they worked). Mickey was in his bedroom, rifling through one of his drawers, when Ian came in.

“So, you figured it out?”

Mickey glanced over at Ian, not even surprised that he was there. Ian assumed he felt Ian’s magic when he’d walked in.

“It was in the spellbook,” Mickey said, closing the drawer. “Neutralizing spell.”

“Neutralizing?”

“It calms our magic or some shit, makes it like they hardly exist.”

Ian glanced around the room, felt out with his magic, and felt a strange magic focused on the bed. “You put the spell on the _bed_?”

Mickey didn’t even bother trying to look innocent. “I mean, if you want to spend the amount of time the spell lasts holding my hand, go ahead. I don’t know about you, but I thought we were on the same page.”

Mickey had sent him a sex dream, for fuck’s sake, of course Ian was on the same page. “I just didn’t expect you to be so . . . romantic about it. Really.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Funnily enough, I did have to use some rose petals to for the enchantment, so never say romance is dead.”

“Is the spell only focused on the bed or—”

Mickey stepped forward and pulled Ian close to him. “Why don’t you stop stalling and help me figure out if this spell actually works?” Mickey leaned up and kissed him then, effectively cutting off any response Ian could’ve had. Ian pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist and thinking if they needed to test this out, he’d need more skin, so he slipped his hands under Mickey’s shirt. Mickey sighed into Ian’s mouth, hand sliding up Ian’s neck and into his hair.

It didn’t take long—within two minutes, Ian’s hands were burning, and by the time it truly became unbearable, Ian’s magic had begun to protest against his skin, buzzing at him in an angry manner. Mickey pulled away so that he didn’t touch Ian’s skin, hands tight on Ian’s clothing, and pressed his forehead to Ian’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Mickey said, clearing his throat. “So magic is still being a fucker. Let’s try the bed.”

Ian let Mickey pull him over, a strange giddiness and anticipation crawling in Ian’s stomach, and when they actually crawled onto the bed, Ian felt the difference. His magic wasn’t clawing at him, nor was Mickey’s affecting him in any way, and as Mickey flexed his hands in front of him, Ian could tell he felt the same.

Ian reached out slowly, touching Mickey’s hand. He expected the burn, the slight hum as their magic began to disagree, but all that came was heat. Not quite the burning that always occurred, but Mickey was warm, warm enough that it wasn’t entirely normal, and Ian didn’t have to pull away. Mickey was focused entirely on their touching hands, so Ian brought Mickey’s hand up to his mouth and just pressed Mickey’s knuckles to his lips.

Mickey let out a shaky breath. “No burn. No—no fucking _sparks_ or fires—”

That’s where he was wrong, of course. Mickey moved forward and kissed him, hungrily, messily, so much so that it could hardly even be counted as kisses, but Ian met him fully—and the burn was still there, but it was only from the heat of Mickey touching him. It felt like it was turning Ian inside out, this desire that burned and coiled in his gut and at the base of his spine.

Their clothing disappeared, one by one, and sometimes they were slow and sometimes they were frantic, but more and more skin was revealed. Mickey’s body heat was insane, his hands hot on Ian’s body, his mouth even more so. That’s what got Ian the most—wherever Mickey touched, Ian wanted his mouth to follow. Ian pressed his body as close to Mickey’s as possible, wanting as much friction and heat as he could get.

And it was magical. Not in a cliche way, but Ian could still feel it, running along his fingertips and growing every time his mouth met Mickey’s, but it wasn’t dangerous or ready to explode—it just filled Ian up, made him press harder, and Mickey moaned Ian’s name in a way that Ian was sure he’d never forget.

With every thrust Mickey did this thing where the breath left his body and he threw his head back, so Ian pressed his mouth there, breathing hot against Mickey’s skin, biting at his collarbone just to hear Mickey moan low in his throat. Mickey was hot and tight around Ian’s cock, their bodies pressed close together, and Ian just wanted this: he wanted to be consumed. So he slowed the snap of his hips to something almost cruel, heard the change in Mickey’s voice, and let Mickey push back, overtake him.

\--

This was the other thing: it was summer, and the sheets stuck to their backs from sweat and yet Ian still pressed as close to Mickey as possible. Mickey’s breath was just beginning to even out again, and then Mickey laughed and said, “Fuck, a cooling spell.” He muttered one in the air, waving his hand around, and a chill so icy overtook them that Ian was pressing closer to Mickey for warmth. Mickey said, “Fuck,” and just pulled the covers over them. 

“How are we going to work this out every other time?”

“Hmm?” Mickey was lazily tracing Ian’s hip. It made Ian drowsy but his magic wide awake, and sometimes when Ian shifted or kissed the Mickey’s shoulder, he could feel the shift in Mickey’s magic too.  

“If we have to set up neutralizing spells everywhere we go just so that I can make out with you without setting things on fire, I may just skip the kissing and go straight to the fire.”

Mickey laughed, shaking his head. “Remember what I said about silencing spells? You silence yourself, not other people. Same for this. We just neutralize ourselves, not the areas we go in.” His finger changed directions, slipping to the dip in Ian’s back. “I suppose I could make something similar to my trinkets, like attach it to a necklace. And we could have an activation spell, that way we don’t always have our magic neutralized.”

“And we just activate when we’re around each other,” Ian said. “Yeah, that works. You’ll have to do it, though, or at least teach me how, since your magic is better than mine.”

“Finally admitting defeat, are we?”

“Hey, I won the competition, remember? My magic cigarette trumps all.”

Mickey slipped his hand lower and gripped Ian’s ass. “Still won, remember?” 

“Yes, but I win double."

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Mickey said, but his voice was fond and his hand was tracing up Ian’s spine, and he didn’t protest when Ian curled tighter around him and pressed kisses to his neck.

\--

It was obvious when the spell wore off, because sometime around five in the morning, Ian woke to his front feeling as though it was roasting in front of a fire. Ian pulled away quickly, still groggy with sleep and confused as to why his legs were tangled with another pair of legs and the sheets, but realization hit him and he nudged Mickey until he woke.

“Spell wore off,” he told Mickey, and regret was heavy in his voice. He had been really looking forward to waking up with Mickey, in Mickey’s arms, not just next to him on a bed.

Mickey pointed to his dresser. “Book,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. Ian got out of the bed and found Lip’s spellbook. Mickey flipped through the pages when Ian handed it to him until he found his page, the one on neutralizing spells. He said the spell in a low, tired voice, and Ian felt his magic slip away and almost sighed in relief.

Mickey grabbed at Ian’s arm and pulled him down, spooning him like Ian been before, and Ian fell asleep in minutes.

\--

Mandy clicked the remote buttons in a frenzy, staring at the screen in frustration. When it didn’t turn on, she threw the remote down and tried the buttons on the TV, but even those didn’t work. “Fuck!” She turned back to Ian. “Please tell me Mickey has those fucking neutralizing charms almost done, because if I have to deal with shot electricity one more fucking time because you and Mickey _kissed_ , I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Ian laughed, grabbing Mandy around the waist and wrestling her onto the couch. “Mickey said he almost had them done. Besides, it’s not just him. You fell asleep on me yesterday and all the beer bottles had exploded.”

Mandy socked him in the stomach, so Ian let her go. “Broken glass is easy to clean up without magic. I can’t even fix the electricity _with_ magic. Therefore, fuck you, you and Mickey are worse.”

Mickey walked into the living room. “God, you’re a lazy fuck. It’s summer. Go outside.”

“I don’t see _you_ doing anything outside.”

“No, that’s a great idea,” Ian said, pushing himself off the couch. “Lip has some leftover fireworks from the fourth of July, we can set those off somewhere.”

Mandy grinned. “We should see who can imitate them best with their magic.”

Ian groaned. “Well, we already know who’s losing that one.”

“And that’s why I love playing,” Mandy said, getting off the couch. “Come on, let’s do it. We can hex the area around the old abandoned buildings, make sure no one else gets in while we set the fireworks on.” She turned to Mickey. “You in?”

Mickey shrugged. “Sure, I’ll come. But you better believe I’m gonna fuck you up with the fireworks I’ll create.”

“Like you could even try,” Mandy said, and she and Mickey bickered all the way to Ian’s house and to the abandoned buildings. Ian let their voices wash over him and felt his magic buzz with happiness. 

He watched Mickey and Mandy play with their magic and make their own fireworks—Mandy was better at the colors, switching green for purple and back again or making rainbows, while Mickey was better at the flashier stuff, the explosions and the styles. When Ian tried, he was a mix of the two, although his were much smaller than theirs were.

Ian watched them laugh over the designs they created, colors and light exploding over their heads, magic swirling around all of them, and thought, _yes, this is perfect_.

(Later, they found out that Ian had accidentally hexed them all so they were immune to fire, as if Ian had been scared of the fireworks actually burning them. Mandy said it was a pretty cool power, but Ian was nervous about his hexes staying on them, so he made them remove it. Mandy just took a lighter to her skin, pressing into her palm, before yelping and snatching her hand back. When she went to put the lighter away, Mickey grabbed Ian by his shirt and pulled him into a rough kiss, but Ian could feel his skin heat up and the magic break. Ian was laughing when he pulled away and said, "If it's possible to break a curse with kissing me, you'd always do it, wouldn't you?"

"Might as well stick with tradition," Mickey said.)

**Author's Note:**

> do you know how hard it was to incorporate the line "i wanna be broom mates" into this fic? it was very hard, but i /had/ to have it in this fic or it wasn't complete. also, there was no avoiding the broomsticks/riding joke. it had to be done
> 
> title from Breath of Life by Florence + the Machine, because nothing says magic better than florence imo
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and i'll love you forever!


End file.
